


Along The Path

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2010-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana is trying to find her own path when it crosses an old acquaintance's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Along The Path

Morgana wandered away from Morgause's camp, wondeing if she had made a mistake. The forests were thick and quiet around her, the darkness settling into the sky as the moon was high and full overhead. The animals were all silent as she walked through the forest, which had to be a bad sign.

She was seized from behind, a dagger at her throat. Morgana could feel the magic rise within her, knew that there could be wind and fire and _pain_ if she merely let the thought go. That would make her everything that Uther hated about magic, would make her the very thing that he was so very afraid of.

The breath at her ear was ragged, the hands holding her still like iron. "Give me your purse, and I'll spare your life."

The voice was familiar, and it took a moment for Morgana to place it. In her hesitation, his grip tightened on her arms, and the blade's point pressed into her neck. It was just hard enough to make a drop of blood well to the surface. "Is this what they turned you into, Lancelot? You were a worthy knight for Arthur."

He let her go, spinning her out and away from him. "What?" he hissed, reacting as if burned.

Morgana touched her hand to her neck, the blood smearing across her fingertips. In a flash of gold, it was gone and her wound was sealed. "I remember you," she said, moving to lower the hood of her cloak. "I remember you very well."

Lancelot saw her, his face ashen. "Lady Morgana."

She gave a brisk shake of her head. "Just Morgana now. I've fled Camelot." Her chin lifted a notch at his stunned surprise. "I'm an enemy of Camelot, just as you are."

"I am not--"

"Aren't you?" she challenged. "What would the knights do if they saw you like this? You know what they would do to a highwayman."

Lancelot's shoulders dropped, but Morgana had no pleasure in it. She approached him slowly; he was still armed, and she wasn't stupid. The first thing she did was touch his hand, her eyes locked to his, and slowly took the dagger away from him. She held it out to him, holding the blade so that he could take it by the hilt. It was a sign of trust and respect, and she watched as Lancelot warily took the dagger back from her. "What do you want, Morgana?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. She had thought she wanted the downfall of Camelot. She had thought she hated Uther for his hypocrisy. She had thought she wanted a home to live in that would be without fear. She didn't know what place that would be, however, and the realization left her cold and empty inside. Her dreams carried thousands of different possible futures, and they slipped through her fingers once she woke. She couldn't choose one to follow, couldn't ensure that she would even survive.

His eyes raked over her face as he sheathed his dagger. He touched the spot that had been bleeding at her throat. "I shouldn't have done that, milady."

"I'm no longer a lady of the court," she reminded him.

"You will always be a lady," Lancelot answered, his other hand moving her cloak aside. "Whether this be velvet or sacking, I know you will always be a fine woman. Just as I am always a servant."

Morgana edged closer to him, a chill rolling through her limbs. "You are more than that. Servants are not always noble."

"Nay, I'm no noble. If you knew my thoughts..." He shook his head ruefully and let his hands fall to his sides. "No, milady. I am no nobleman."

She couldn't help but smile. "It's a good thing I don't want a nobleman."

The wonder in his gaze didn't mask the open appreciation of her beauty. He had always cared for Gwen, but he knew a fair face when he saw it. Morgana didn't need adoration. She needed to _feel_ and she needed to _belong,_ if only for a little while.

He pressed her against a tree, his mouth falling onto hers. One hand was at her hips, pulling them tight to his, the other was at the nape of her neck. Good God, the man could kiss like sin, his lips urging hers to part so his tongue could explore her mouth. Morgana wound her arms around his shoulders and opened her mouth wider beneath his. There was passion in his kiss, a heady fervor that was almost like worship. Lancelot moved to press his lips to her neck, and kissed a trail down to her bodice. His hands were at the laces, undoing them as best as he could to free her breasts. Once they were free, he suckled one and pulled lightly at the other, making Morgana gasp. It was pleasure and a fierce need that shot through her, a distinct feeling that there was more and she had to have it.

Lancelot lifted her skirts and moved to place his head between her thighs. He licked the skin above her silken stockings, then right to where the ache had settled between her legs. Morgana gasped at the feel of his mouth there, at the rush in her veins she had never felt before. She grasped her skirts as Lancelot moved to take hold of her hips for balance. He went to work in earnest, drawing out gasps and moans. Morgana felt like a coiled spring, as if he was winding her tight and tighter and tighter still. Her hips tilted of their own accord, and her back arched at a particularly sensitive lick against her center. Her breasts jutted out of her bodice into the cool night air, nipples taut and aching. When Lancelot slid a finger inside of her, it was enough to send her careening over an edge she hadn't known existed. The coiling burst apart, and she cried out in ecstasy.

Lancelot rose from his knees, catching Morgana's limp form. "Morgana," he murmured, his body pressed to hers. "This is as far as I can go. You're but a maiden."

She lifted her head with difficulty and grasped hold of his shirt. "Then make me a woman."

Against his better judgment, Lancelot unlaced her dress, letting it fall from her shoulders to puddle at her feet. The shift was next, so that she stood there clad in only the silken stockings at her legs and the garters to hold them up. Reverently, Lancelot removed them, his lips following the trails his fingers made. At her breathless request, Lancelot stripped his own clothing, leaving them both skyclad in the middle of the forest. He laid her down over her velvet cloak, showering her face with kisses and touching her everywhere. Just when she could stand it no longer, he positioned himself over her. "I should stop," he said, almost begging her to say no.

Morgana pulled him down, muffling her cry of pain. "Don't you dare," she ordered in a strangled voice. "Give me everything. Spare me nothing."

He moved over her and within her, long, deep strokes that stretched and filled her. It hurt in some places, not in others. It was over far too soon, and Morgana lay beneath Lancelot, looking up at the moon. He tried to apologize for her pain, but she wouldn't have it. She held his hand tightly and kissed the rough knuckles. "This was a gift you gave me." She smiled at his confused look. "I hadn't thought this could be beautiful, but now I know it can be." Morgana pressed a kiss to his lips. "I would be honored if you would stay with me."

Even as he shook his head, Morgana had known he would not stay with her. He was trying to follow a path of redemption, however rocky the road and deviations in the path. She would have to find her own way.


End file.
